


Sentimental

by Tacens



Series: Good Enough [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fatherhood, Nuka-World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tacens/pseuds/Tacens
Summary: Porter Gage was twelve when he left home.His son is twelve when he does the same.





	Sentimental

At the first distant crackle of green lightning, Porter Gage shoulders his rifle and turns to head home. 

Because that's what Sanctuary is now: home. 

It's been near fourteen years since he first crossed the bridge into the settlement, the longest he's ever stayed in one place by far.  When he first arrived, he'd stared at the lines of houses, the flowerboxes, the laughing children, and felt like a blight upon the blossom.  He didn't belong.  Sanctuary was not meant for him.  That _life_ was not meant for him.  But still, he followed Nora through it.  Stayed with her.  Loved her. 

They'd been in that boring little town for barely a year before his son, Liam, had arrived.  Somehow twelve scant months separated _'Porter Gage, Raider Kingmaker'_ , and _'Porter Gage, suburbanite husband and father'_.   And yeah, those first years were hard.  When Gage thinks back to them now, he's damn certain he'd rather lose his other eye than live through them again.  Still, it wasn't the life he ever imagined, but it's the one he's got, so he makes do for the sake of Nora.  

It still ain't easy.  It's a soft town, full of soft people, and he's a man of all hard edges.  But in a world where every day is a fight for survival, dealing with 'boring' is something Gage learns to endure.  These days, he can ignore the flowerboxes, the cheerful twitter of gossiping neighbours; he doesn't even cringe when he walks through that white picket fence into Nora's pastel yellow house anymore.

He's got a daughter now too: Aster.  And hell, as if a boy wasn't enough, a little girl is goddamn terrifying.  She looks just like her Ma, all big innocent eyes with too much trust that he hasn't earned.  The first time he holds her, bundled and pink and squalling and beautiful, he thinks only one thing: he's going to fuck it all up.  He's going to ruin her life. 

But fuck if it doesn't make Nora happy to have a little girl; she dresses her daughter in pink pinafores and braids ribbons in her honey-brown hair.  And it's anything for Nora.  That was the pledge he made a decade ago, and the one he plans to keep to his grave.  Gage still remembers the glow in her eyes, their daughter just minutes old, the way Nora looked up at him and smiled like _he'd_ given her a goddamn gift.  That's the look he wants to see every day.

Still, after the second kid, Gage got himself good and drunk, and had Doctor Sun snip him  (no fucking way he was letting Curie near his nutsack with a scalpel).  So, two was it, and that was more than enough.

As time goes by, it's clear that Gage and his son, they just don't _click_ like father and son should.  Nora did most of the child-rearing, whatever she wanted, however she wanted.  She's built the settlement up for her children - a park, a school house  (heavy turrets, high walls) - into the envy of the Commonwealth.   So, the boy, he's soft.  His mother keeps him sheltered, tries to raise him like its 200 years ago and the worst thing that could happen is that he fails his spelling bee.  So the boy goes to school (doesn't know how lucky he is for it), mopes about his chores, runs about  with the town's other  children, and he and Gage only really cross paths at dinner, and even then, if Gage is on patrol, maybe not even then.

When he looks at his son, all Gage can see is himself and the hundreds of times he's fucked-up in his life.  He sees himself at twelve, cocky and stupid - all knobby-knees and poor choices.  It ain't fair to put that on the kid; it ain't his fault his old man was a stupid sonuvabitch in his youth.  But the shadow of the father has cast over the son, and won't be moved. 

To his surprise, it's easier with Aster.  When Gage looks at his daughter, he sees a little Nora looking back at him, all goodness and sweetness that neither he nor this world deserves, and that he will do anything to protect. 

He's not a good father.  He knows that.  But he tries not to be a bad one either.  He doesn't beat them, doesn't shout at them, does what he can to keep them safe and fed, which is more than his own father ever did for him.  So Gage patrols the settlement, checks the turrets, keeps his ear to the ground for rumours of raiders and makes sure they never make it anywhere close to the bridge. 

Over the long creep of years, Nora's changed him, inside and out.  She dresses him in pre-war military armor, stronger and lighter than his old rusted yellow mess.   She's got him a whole new weapons load out too: rifle, side arm, ordnances - the whole fucking dealing.  He struts about better armed that a Brotherhood Paladin and a Gunner Captain combined.

By the time Gage crosses into Sanctuary, the sky has turned a dirty yellow as the radstorm moves in.  The storms don't bother Gage much.  He's grown up in the rads and his forefathers must have had the right stuff in their blood and guts to keep'em from baking from the inside out.  A couple Rad-Xs and Gage is good to go trudging through even the thickest storm.   

But Nora's got none of that - a cup of dirty water, a bite of bad food, twenty minutes in a radstorm, and she's down for the count.  It's the bad season for storms and she's been ghost-white all week for it.

So now, geared to the gills and back, Gage trudges back home to find his wife and lock her up somewhere before she makes herself sick, because for all that Gage has changed, Nora hasn't.  She still worries about a thousand problems not her own.  She still frets.  She still fusses.   Sure, maybe time has hardened her a little - she's a little quicker to doubt, a little more likely to turn away - but even years later, the Commonwealth can still make Nora really goddamn sick. 

When Gage doesn't find her in the fields or the market or even her office at the shining townhall, he heads towards her little yellow house, bright flowers in the window box, gleaming white picket fence at its border.  As he approaches the door, he hears voices from within; maybe, just maybe, it won't be a fight to get his wife out of the storm for once.  Maybe, if the kids are off at Curie's, he'll even get a few uninterrupted hours with her.  Maybe she'll make him dinner.  Maybe he'll fuck her over the kitchen table for dessert.

His hopes are dashed when he instead finds Nora tossing guns, ammo, gear, on to that same table, running this way and that to gather supplies.  RJ MacCready - not his friend, but not someone he's in a hurry to shoot - at her side.  

"Just calm down, Nora.  He'll be fine," MacCready tries to reassure her. 

Nora doesn't notice her husband's arrival, nor the click of the door latching behind him.  It's only the slow and careful drawl of "What's up, Boss?" that pulls her attention.

She drops the box of ammo in her hands, and when she looks up to him, her face is stained with the tracks of tears.  "He's gone, Porter.  He's gone." 

In three long steps, she's at his side, clutching at him like he's a raft in stormy seas, like the waves are growing higher and she's never learnt to swim.  This isn't something they do - he and Nora ain't the public affection sort - but when Gage sees the way she shakes, he's willing to let this particular trespass go.  Despite their audience, he lets her tuck herself in beneath his chin as he runs the curve of his palm in long strokes up and down her back.

Gage finds himself in uncharted waters; he's never seen her panicked before.   He's seen her with anger, uncertainty, and (to his shame, in memories that still make his stomach turn) doubt, but never _fear_ like this before.  She's been pale all week - a bad stream of radstorms blowing in from the southwest.  But now's she streaked in tones of red and grey.

Between Nora's muffled ramblings and MacCready's interjections, Gage manages to piece together the story: Liam has run off in the night.  Left a note upon his bed saying that he was tired of being cramped and coddled, and has gone off to find adventure and be a man. 

_Stupid little shit_.

With the radstorms curling above them, the radios are down and the best they can figure is that he hid himself in with one of the caravans heading south or east that left last night.  If he's smart (which Gage is damn doubtful about right now), he'll try for Bunker Hill and not Diamond City, where too many people would recognize the General's son.

And for a moment, Gage thinks _, let him go_.  Because that's what _he_ wanted all those years ago on that shitty southern dustbowl: a clean break from his family, a chance to live on his own terms.  Just let the kid go, if that's what he wants so bad. 

But, again, he sees the terror in Nora's eyes, the fear of past pains, of history repeating.   

And it's anything for her.

"Where's Aster?"  he asks, pulling back from her embrace.

"Curie is watching her and -"

"Good.  You head there too."

And for a moment, she looks more puzzled than terrified, and the wave of relief that grants Gage still manages to surprise him.  Then his sweet little settler wife realizes what he means, and the curse that follows would make her past Overboss-self proud.

"I'm going after him," she states as unquestionable fact.

"Like shit you are."

And so they fight, as they do every now and then.  Usually Gage folds like a soggy napkin after a few minutes, but now, as he has only a handful of times in the past, when he really, _really_ needs it, he wins.  And just like every other time he's won, he does it dirty.

"You'll slow us down.  Ain't got time to drag you along."

It's a hard thing, a cruel thing, to say, but it's true and suits Gage's purposes for keeping her out of the storms.   And when she looks stricken, it's only because she knows it's true.

Across the room, MacCready flashes him a look that reads, _you didn't have to say that, you didn't have to put it that way._   He turns to his boss and pulls her into a hug.  "It's gonna be okay, Nora.  Gage and I'll go and we'll have'em home by dinner."

Any other man touching his wife would set Gage's teeth on edge.  But MacCready looks at Nora and sees only his boss, his friend, his big sister, someone he loves but doesn't _love_ ,  and so Gage lets it go.

He takes only a few minutes to pack, grabbing most of what Nora's already laid out and then a little more.  Her tears have hardly dried before Gage and MacCready set out after the kid.  She stands in the door way, watching them go until they fade into the storm's mustard haze. 

They're not far past Lexington when MacCready shows yet again that he's not the same cold-hearted merc from a decade ago.  "Listen, Gage, kids can be dumb," he tries.  "I was dumb as hell at twelve, and a whole town of even dumber little twerps put me in charge.  Kids, they do dumb things, and you just gotta let it go."

Gage only grunts in reply.

~~~

They were right about Bunker Hill, but too late to make a difference: the kid has already been and gone.  After questioning some locals and reminding them that this is the General's kid they're talking about, some traders admit that a knobby-kneed kid with fluffy brown hair paid them a hundred caps to join their caravan just beyond Tenpines, and then once they arrived at the Hill, another hundred more to sketch a map to Goodneighbour. 

So they head south.  Goodneighbour seems farther away than Gage remembers.  He and Nora used to make the trek down to the Castle maybe once a year so that Nora could have meetings with her Minutemen, and so that the judgey fucker in the white coat could parade about his fortress on his high horse.  Back then, they could make the trip and back in a few long days and Gage didn't so much as notice it.

But now, well, there's no nice way to say it, _Gage is old_ , and he feels it in his bones.  His knees ache and his shoulders groan beneath his pack.  They walk all night, through the morning, and, with only a couple hours rest at the Hill, late afternoon finds Gage dragging his feet more than he ever used to.  He feels the weight of his years upon him. 

As the afternoon soon breaks orange between the high-rises, he glances to MacCready, maybe ready to suggest they take another break, maybe even find some good cover in the ruins and get an hour sleep.  He holds his tongue when he turns to see the merc still looks fresh as a goddamn daisy.  MacCready looks young, his wiry strength has not faded at all as he struts towards forty.  So Gage only shifts his pack to a different spot on his back, turns a deaf ear to the complaints his knees shout up at him, and trudges onward.

~~~

A few hours later and the neon lights of Goodneighbour shine just ahead.  There's a few wild dogs and a handful of scavvers that MacCready warns off with a couple of wide shots, but besides that, the trek down from Bunker Hill is clear.  

As they approach the walls, they find Hancock waiting for them, arms crossed as he leans back against the gate, cigarette burned down to an ash bud upon his wrinkled lips.

Gage reminds himself to be civil.  He ain't exactly Hancock's biggest fan; the ghoul is one smug asshole, and well, it ain't exactly a secret that the good mayor of Goodneighbour has tried to fuck his wife. 

"'Cready," he rasps a welcome.  To Gage, he asks, "Ya lose somethin', Gage?"

But Porter Gage is too old and too tired to deal with the ghoul's smug bullshit today.  "He here or not?" 

Hancock stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, checks what's left of his ruined fingernails, before answering.  "Down in the Third Rail.  Came in last night following some traders.  I've got some of the boys keepin' an eye on him."  He spits the bud from his lips, even as he draws a fresh cigarette from his pocket.  Lighting it, he adds, "Not that the kid's noticed'em.  Too busy making eyes at Magnolia."

"Ha," MacCready laughs.  "Trying to score with Magnolia is practically a rite of passage around here.  Congrats Gage, he's a man now."

Gage glowers in reply.

Hancock puffs a smoke ring, lazily adding, "Ya want me to have the boys scare 'em a bit?  Maybe toss 'em in the warehouse for the night?"

Gage considers it for a moment.  Would do the kid some good to spend the night in a cold warehouse, scared shitless about what the morning would bring.  Maybe he'd remember that feeling before he tried some shit like this again. 

Despite its appeal, Gage pushes the thought away - Nora would never forgive him if she found out.  "Nah, I'll grab 'em and we'll be on our way."

"Ya sure?  I can put ya up in the Statehouse for the night."

Gage shakes his head.  "Few hours of daylight left.  Want to get to Diamond City before then."

The ghoul sniffs.  "What?  Goodneighbour ain't good enough for you, Gage?  Not enough slaves?"

It was a bit of a mystery why everyone assumed that Gage and Hancock would hit it off as pals.  In truth, they couldn't be more different: Hancock hates raiders, and Gage hates chems.  That doesn't leave much to talk about over beers. 

Despite the fact that Gage's fist is itching to punch the smug motherfucker right in his damn ugly mug, he backs off, plays nice.  The mayor has kept an eye out for his kid, after all.

"Thanks Hancock, but ya know Nora.  She'll be climbing the walls 'til we get back."

And that's all it takes for the old ghoul to drop the teasing.  If Nora's upset, then that's the end of that.  Anything for Nora, right?  Hancock nods, and gestures him onwards with a tilt of his fucking stupid hat.  "You tell Sunshine not to be such a stranger.  Goodneighbour just ain't the same without her smiling face."

Gage leaves the ghoul and MacCready chatting at the gates, and descends alone through the haze into the echoing caverns of the Third Rail.  He doesn't have to search hard for the boy - he's right there in the front row, all skin and bones and knobby knees, clutching a Nuka-Cola, eyes wide and leaned so far forward he could wipe his snotty little nose on the hem of Magnolia's sequined dress. 

It wasn't like this when Gage left home.  His first nights were spent cold and hungry, huddled and hidden, in an abandoned warehouse, a damp alley, a leaking dugout, each moment wondering if he'd made a terrible fucking mistake.  Eventually, miles and miles away from home, he'd joined up with his first gang, and spent his nights with the dogs, eating scraps and glad for it.

As Gage stalks over towards the boy, stands there casting him in a long shadow, the kid doesn't even take notice.  _Unobservant_.  No survival instincts.  It's a goddamn miracle he made it to Goodneighbour alive.

Gage clears his throat, and, finally, the boy turns about to meet him, dread in his eyes.  The colour drains from his cheeks and his throat bobs as he swallows.  And that's that.  There's no fight.  No argument.  No scene.  The kid knows he's done for.  His shoulders droop as he grabs his coat and bag, and grimly follows his father back out into the daylight.

When they reach the bright streets, Gage gives the kid a once-over just to make sure he ain't too worse for wear.  He spots a rusted pipe-pistol tucked into the kid's pants like he's some two-bit raider.  He yanks it out, turns it over in his hands, shaking his head in disgust.   What a pile of garbage.  Who knows where the fuck the kid picked it up.  Piece of shit would probably back-fire as soon as he pulled the trigger.  He tosses it in a bin without a second thought. 

They meet MacCready at the gates, and as they walk out of Goodneighbour and into the city beyond, Hancock shouts a final taunt to Gage as they go. 

Gage doesn't shoot the smug asshole.  So, that's something, at least.

~~~

The trek to Diamond City is the shit icing on Gage's shit cake of a day.  He's tired and sore and goddamn but it's been a long hike here. 

As they weave through Boston's rotting alleyways and scale old mountains of debris, the boy sends  pleading looks to MacCready for mercy, but the merc just shakes his head and trudges on ahead; this is a family matter, and he has no place in the middle of it.

The Diamond City guards let them (the General's husband, the General's son, the General's right-hand man) into town without question.  As they climb down the stairs and towards the market square, MacCready makes up some excuse about visiting Duncan for a few days while he's in town and parts ways with a smirk and a wave.  Gage answers with a tight nod, appreciating the gesture.

So it's just Gage and the kid, both dragging ass as they trudge towards Home Base, Nora's Fenway Get-Away.  Once inside, Gage drops his pack, lights the cooking fire in the centre of the old warehouse, and throws a couple cans of beans to heat next to it. 

When the food is ready, the pair eat in silence.  The hush, the strain, makes the house feel icy-cold despite the fire blazing within.  The kid sighs as he raises the spoon to his mouth, and glances longingly to the door and the noodle stand just beyond.  Everyone loves Takahashi's noodles, but that's too damn bad.  Kid ain't done shit to deserve noodles.

It's then that Gage realizes that he hasn't said a single damn word to the kid all day.  So now, over dinner, where to start?  Maybe ream the kid out for making him drag his ass across the Commonwealth and back?  Tell him that he's wasted days of his and MacCready's time?  That he's damn lucky not to be dead or worse?

No.  Not those.  Because those ain't the worst of what the kid's done.  Not by a long shot.  Because in all their years together, only twice now has Gage seen his Nora cry.  Once from the father.  And now, once from the son.

"Look," he finally speaks to the boy across the cook fire.  His voice is level, calm, a surprise to them both.  "Your Ma, she lost a son once."   It's not exactly a secret - it's just something no one talks about it.

The boy looks up in a snap, opens and closes his mouth a few times as though he's chewing the words. 

"Before we ever met, she had a husband and a boy, and she lost 'em both.  Watched'em both die.  Couldn't do shit to save them."

Liam looks back at this father in frank surprise.  He's heard stories about his mother - tall tales of slaying monsters beneath the ground, of shooting iron dragons out of the sky - but  he's never heard this before.  He opens his mouth to speak, but can't figure the words to say.

Eventually the boy tries another sort of history, one that doesn't reconcile with the myths of the General.  "But Pa, she acts like I'm a little kid still.  She won't let me do _anything_.  You left home at twelve and you were fine, and Uncle Mac was _mayor_ at twelve, and Mom won't even let me - "

_Goddamn, stupid little shit._   "You see this?"  Gage rips off his eye patch.  "I wasn't fine!"  he snarls, turning his head so the light shines bright upon the ruined socket.   It's a vicious mark that he hasn't shown anyone but Nora in near two decades.  "And that's just one.  I got a hundred more like that."

His son recoils at the sight, but Gage presses on.  "See here?"  He pulls up his shirt to show a jagged, ugly scar across his gut.  "Thought I was some big-shot merc for a while.  Found some other young punks and we ran about knocking over caravans for caps.   And then one day my 'partners' decide one less share sounds damn nice and they come at me with a machete ."  He runs the tip of one finger along the gash, mimicking the slice he wishes he could forget.  "Spent three days lying in a ditch, bleedin' out, hoping I'd just hurry up and die, 'til some traders came by, pulled me out."  His voice falls low as the memories creep in.  "And none of it was free.  _I paid_.  I paid in ways you can't even imagine."

Glancing back at the wide-eyed boy through the firelight, Gage comes back to himself.  The kid has both arms pulled in against his chest.  He shakes off the memories of injuries long past.  "You're mad your Ma treats you like a kid?  Well, got some news for you: you're a fuckin' kid.  You ain't ready for gangs or mercs or shit yet.  That pistol you got?  Feral would have your arm off before you managed a shot."

The boy looks ready to object, to spout some shit that he's older and wiser than he looks, that he ain't just another stupid kid acting out.  Still, at least he's smart enough to hold  his tongue now and let his father carry on.

"You ain't got no idea what your Ma's done to make sure you never have'ta pick up a gun.  She worries about you?  She fusses over you?  It's cuz you're the light of her goddamn life," he spits it like an accusation.  "She's kept you fed and warm and given you the softest life in the whole damn 'Wealth.  And you..."  he shakes his head.  "You made your Ma cry."

He pauses there and lets that sink in.  The kid stoops lower, loses himself in shame.

_Good_.

Gage lets him wallow in it a few minutes more before adding, "You're my son and, yeah, you're dumb as shit sometimes, but I love ya.  So, when we get home, you're gonna shut your mouth, do your chores, and we're gonna never say two words about this again."

His son nods wide-eyed back at him.

"But listen careful, boy: if you ever make your Mama cry again, I'll tan your hide so red they'll strap you ass-up at Kingsport.  You hear me?"

"Yessir."

"Good.  Now, eat your damn dinner."

~~~

 

They had planned to send word up to Sanctuary that they'll be back in a couple days, but Ellie's radio is still down, and Gage doesn't like the thought of Nora fretting for not knowing, so father and son head out at the first streaks of morning light and begin the long walk home.

As they wind their way out of Boston's ruined carcass and on towards the northern suburbs, Gage is forced to admit that the Commonwealth is a different world than it was a decade ago.  They may walk the same crumbled asphalt, but not once does Gage have to draw his weapon.  They don't see a single damn raider the entire day - only a couple of smiling caravans and three separate Minutemen patrols.  The militiamen nod politely at the boy, but give Gage a sidelong glare as they pass by, still unsure of what to think of the General's raider husband - at least some things will never change.

With a break in the storms, it's a bright, beautiful, sunny day, and for a moment, Gage even let's himself understand how the kid could have been so goddamn stupid in thinking the Commonwealth was safe to wander. 

Still, the changing scenery and the ache in his back both remind Gage of one hard fact: he's getting old.   He thinks of Nora, soft and sweet, and not meant for this world.  Sure, she was once the woman who dove over a car and shot Colter in the face, who once took down a whole park full of gatorclaws and Nukatrons, but that ain't who she is now, ain't ever who she wanted to be, ain't who she should have to be again.  What will happen to his Nora, and now, to his sweet little daughter, ribbons in her hair, when he's gone? 

His gaze falls to the boy, and, for better or worse, Gage finds his answer.

Just past Starlight Drive-In, Gage whistles the kid over to his side.  Drawing the pistol from his belt, he tosses it to the boy.  The kid fumbles it for a moment, steadies it against his chest before looking up at Gage with a question in his eye.

"Shoot the sign," Gage demands, pointing at a rusted-red STOP sign, maybe thirty paces down the road.

The boy looks at him like he's speaking goddamn ancient Greek, glances to the gun, the sign, and his father, back again.  His mouth opens and closes like a dying fish a few more times, before at last he lifts the gun, closes one eye, and points it with shaking hands towards the sign.  When he pulls the trigger, both eyes closed now, the shot goes far wide and the kick near knocks him over.  When his eyes open, the boy turns to his father, soaked in guilt and shame.

Gage makes something between a scoff and a sigh.  "Yer standin' wrong."  He taps the boy's back ankle with the toe of his boot, and pushes back on his far shoulder.  "Here.  You gotta brace into it.  And keep your damn eyes open."  He pushes again and then nods as the boy settles into the stance.  "Better.  Now shoot."

This time, it scuffs the border of the sign.  Gage nods with something like approval, and the boy looks up at him with that same look of hope and trust that Nora gives him and that still makes him queasy with guilt to see.  But, fifteen years later, Gage has learned to bear it better.

They empty two clips before Gage takes back the pistol and they continue North.

~~~

Daylight is fading by the time they cross the bridge into Sanctuary.  The sun streaks long red trails through the sky and the hum of evening crickets fills the air. 

When they reach the pastel yellow house, the door bursts open and Nora flies out to greet them.   She grabs her son and pulls him tight against her chest, scolding him even as she presses a frantic kiss upon his brow.   Both father and son try not see the shine of moisture  at the corner of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom.  I'm sorry," is all Liam can say, and as far as Gage is concerned, it ain't near enough for the hurt he's caused, but it's a start.

And Gage can't help but think of how different his own welcome would have been if he had returned home himself, all those years ago - a cuff on the ear, a kick in the ass, a threat to lock him out in the cold to starve.  But it's a different world now.  Nora has built a new world here for her children.  It ain't her perfect polished life from 200 years ago, but it ain't the shitty dump of dirt, rads, and raiders that Gage grew up in either.  It's the future.  Their future.   A better one than he's ever known.

So Gage doesn't say a goddamn word as Nora fusses over the boy, smoothing his hair, trying to feed him a second plate of dinner, and tucking him into bed.  He gives his son a hard eye over her shoulder.  The kid will take her fussing - _all of it_ \- or Gage will apply a hefty dose of boot to his ass.

Across the hall, Aster is fast asleep, oblivious to the world's troubles.  Her little arm clutches tight to her ratty old bear.  She dreams of kittens and candy and soft and sweet and easy things.  Gage stands in the doorway a minute, watching her sleep.  His shadow casts a long fissure through the warm light of Nora's home that spills in behind him.

And then, once the children are settled, Gage lets Nora dote on him.  Lets her draw him a hot bath (another too-soft luxury courtesy of Sanctuary) and wash his back as she kneels at the tub's side.   Her delicate little fingers dig deep into the knots of his shoulders and he feels the miles of road and stress of the day melt away.  Sure, Gage once hated how he fawned over Nora like a damn princess, but now, every once in a while, it's pretty damn nice to be treated like a king. 

When the water is cool and brown, and Gage is pink and clean, he stands and lets his wife guide him towards their bed.  She sits him down upon the covers and kneels between his parted knees.  Her hands drift up his thighs as she trails kisses over his scarred stomach.

"Thank you, Porter," he hears her whisper against his skin, moving lower and lower still.  "Thank you for bringing him home.  I know that - "

He grabs her about the waist and pulls him onto his lap.  "Don't ever have to thank me, darlin," he mumbles into the curve of her neck.  "It's anything for you, you know that."

As he feels Nora hold him tighter, Gage wonders what his twelve year-old self would think if he could see him now.  A wife.  A family.  A pastel house with flowerboxes and picket fences.

_Fuck'em._

The last few days have only proven that twelve year-old boys are dumb little shits anyways.

"He's my boy too," he adds, voice so low that it probability wasn't even meant for her.  Still, he meets her eyes, and there it is, that love and adoration and _gratitude_ he still doesn't deserve.  So he pulls her in close, breaks the weight of her gaze by pressing his lips to hers.

She still kisses him, it's like he's oxygen, like he's the only thing keeping her alive.  She straddles his lap, runs her hands over his neck and breathes him in.  She still touches him like she's desperate for him.

He works at her shirt, because fuck, a decade and two kids later, he still loves her tits.  He still wants to see them, touch them, draw their tips between his teeth and hear her moan, every chance he can get.   The years have not left her untouched, there are thin streaks of silver through her hair, soft crinkles at the corner of her eyes, and she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.  When he runs his hands upon over her bare back, alone the curve of her ribs, he's not surprised to find that she's still the softest thing in the whole damn Commonwealth.

She rides him as he sits at the edge of the bed.  The slow, churning, flex of her hips as she draws him in and out still pulls a line of embers down Gage's spine.  He watches her through the low flicker of the candlelight, manages not to shrink beneath the waves of pure affection her heavy gaze sends his way.  He still counts it a miracle:  she's delicate, precious, beautiful, and somehow, somehow, somehow, _his._

They're quieter now.  In a settlement full of nosy neighbours and two kids down the hall, they've learned to be much, much quieter.  They've learned to muffle voices into bedclothes.  They keep the bed pulled back from the wall.

When she comes, when she calls his name, it isn't a shout, but a gasping whisper into his ear.  And yet, when she sighs "I love you, Porter,"  he hears it loud and clear.

Gage goes to sleep, his children safe down the hall, his wife smiling against his chest.

He hasn't thought about Nuka-World or his grand plans in years.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Sun performs major reconstructive facial surgery in a dirty market stall. Surely he can manage a vasectomy too, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I had planned for this to be the end of this series, but now I'm thinking maybe one more part, taking place between this one and _Sweet_? Maybe?


End file.
